


Sins of our fathers

by moya



Series: Sins of our fathers [1]
Category: Glee, Supernatural
Genre: And nope - Sam and Dean and Cas won't be in this fic, Crossover, M/M, Violence, burt hummel is my hero, i swear this is not a crack fic, might be squick-worthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:50:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moya/pseuds/moya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In retrospect, Puck thought he should have known something was wrong.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sins of our fathers

 

 

In retrospect, Puck thought he should have known something was wrong.

He should have noticed Kurt’s silence and lack of general bitchiness, like it was the period of calm just before the storm hit. But he'd got soft these last two years, lost some of his quick thinking because of the false sense on normalcy that McKinley provided. There were no immediate dangers, nothing jumping from around the corners except for stupid jocks with grape slushies and really, lately that was his biggest problem.

So when he was almost late for Glee, rummaging through his locker looking for the score sheet he had prepared the other day for his guitar solo, the faint humming in short distance away froze him in his tracks.

Puck could never forget that song.

He snapped his locker shut and turned around in less then two seconds, but a small hand—a hand with dainty fingers that he could snap like twigs on any other day—had already grabbed his throat and pushed him _hard_ into cold metal of lockers.

“Hello, Noah. Fancy meeting you again.”

Puck grabbed the small wrist and tried to pry the chocking palm away, but it remained steady as steel. With his other hand he tried to deliver a well-aimed punch to his attacker’s face, but it was slapped away with force that made him grind his teeth.

Kurt smiled at him, a predatory kind of smile had chilled him to the bone. Puck had seen him smirk in nonchalance before, usually when he thought that he was smarter then rest of the world. Which was nearly always. He had also seen him smile genuinely that morning after they had won sectionals and had too much to drink and boy, wasn’t that an interesting story to tell others. _Not._

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

The punch that came next caused Puck to see stars before his eyelids.

 

 

*****

 

Members of New Directions were gathered in the choir room, along with Mr. Schuester. Everyone was busy gossiping, or reading the lyrics sheets that the teacher gave them few minutes ago, all of them waiting for Kurt and Puck, who were unfashionably late. A couple of other members were also missing, but Matt and Tina were both struck with nasty case of flu earlier that week and had been on leave for the entire week.

The door to choir room swung open and banged against the wall loudly, causing people to flinch at the sound. Whatever protests were in their throats were forgotten when they saw Puck.

To say that he looked like something out of a teen horror flick would be a huge understatement. He had a bleeding gash on his forehead and even nastier wound on the inside of his palm. But what shocked people the most was the terrified, but also determined look on his face.

“Noah!” Mr. Schuester jumped into action, shaking off his stupor and running to boy’s side. A few of Glee kids tried to follow his steps.

“Stay away!”

The panicked shout was enough to stop the teens in their tracks, but the Spanish teacher still reached him.

“Noah, what happened to you?” Mr. Schue gripped his arms lightly, trying to see an extent to the damage done to him, but Puck shrugged him off quickly.

“Stay back,” Puck hissed with a menace that surprised the teacher. Without sparing one more glance at him, Noah dug his fingers into the would on his palm, gathering the blood that welled up and using it to draw some kind of symbol on the now closed choir room door.

“Stop, Noah, what are you doing?” Will tried to grab his hands but Puck smacked them away angrily. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he would have to do a lot of groveling and apologizing for what he was doing _and_ for what he was about to do in the next couple of minutes. But, Puck decided, if they’ll live thorough the next hour, then fuck it, it was worth it.

“Mr. Schue, would you get the fuck away from the door?” He hissed through nearly clenched teeth as he focused on painting the bloody sigil correctly. He could hear few surprised gasps behind his back, as Gleeks hear the way he was speaking to a teacher, but he definitely did not have time for sensibilities. Painting the last bloody line, he wasted no time and ran towards the center of the room, where rest of the club was stuck frozen, waiting for Schuester’s next move.

Puck was faster.

“Here.” After rummaging through his backpack for a second, he tossed something towards Finn, who caught it automatically and frowned upon closer look at the item in his hands. “I need you to make a perfect circle using this, big enough to fit all of us. And dude, you need to do it right _now_.”

“Salt?” Finn looked from the container to Puck, looking confused. “Why do we need a salt circle?”

Puck was still busy digging through his pack, looking for something intently.

“Man, just do it! We don’t have time for this shit right now.”

That was the moment Mr. Schuester seemed to get back his voice.

“Now listen, Noah, I don’t know what in the world are you thinking, but—“

He was stopped mid-sentence by Rachel’s shrill scream, since she was the first one who noticed what Puck was looking for in his pack.

“Whoa!”

“What the—?!”

“Puck!”

He had to say, he was expecting that kind of reaction. It wasn’t every day that a student pulled out a heavy handgun out of their pack and he could bet his left hand that none of them actually saw a real gun in their life.

“Have you finally gone off a deep end?” Mercedes was actually the first one to recover from the shock. “You’re going to start shooting innocent people now?”

Puck noticed that Mr. Schue was coming towards him with hands stretched out in pacifying gesture.

“Noah, listen, whatever is going on, this is really not a good idea. I would like for you to put the gun down and then we can talk this out, ok?”

Puck stared at him for a moment. Schuester wasn’t actually a half-bad teacher, even if it took him a moment sometimes to catch up on things. Like knowing your wife had a pillow stuck under her shirt, not your baby. Yeah, right.

“Finn, you’re going to make that salt ring or stare like an ass for the rest of the day?” He glanced at his former best friend and stuffed the gun into the back of his pants. “We kinda have limited time here, dude.”

Finn was looking at him like he had never seen him before, or possible like he had sprouted another head. Puck guessed it was only fair. Not every day the people you know for years decide to bring guns to school. What Finn didn’t know was that he had the gun stashed on school property for months now and the salt container safely tucked in his locker for even longer then that.

“I don’t get it,” Finn muttered, but he started to make the salt circle, wary of the other boy. Worried not to upset the crazy person, Puck mussed.

“Remember how I told you my dad left my mom a couple of years back?” Finn gave a hesitant nod, looking up from his work on the salt circle. “Well, he didn’t. He’s dead. And the guy who killed him? He’s out there. Like, _right now_.”

There were a few gasps from behind him—and man, weren’t the Gleeks uncharacteristically silent today—but he kept his eyes on Finn, waiting for his reaction. The boy’s eyes got impossibly wide for a moment.

“So when I tell you to make that salt lines, you better hurry the fuck up, man. He’ll be here soon.”

“If he’s coming, then shouldn’t we run?” Rachel looked panicked and Puck couldn’t really blame her. From the corner of his eye he saw Finn hurrying up on the salt circle. Jesse took Rachel’s hand, trying to calm her down, but Puck could see he was just as nervous as the rest of them. There was something in his eyes that made Puck wonder for a second if he knew what the salt was for, but he dismissed that thought for now.

“I know I am _not_ staying here!” Santana seemed to snap out of it and taking Brittany’s hand she started towards the door. The blonde just blinked in wonder, but followed her friend anyways. Puck stepped in their way.

“Let us through!” She hissed, her face scrunching in really unflattering expression of anger. “Whatever shit your family is stuck in, you will not drag us under with you!”

“I really don’t want to threaten you with a gun.” Puck shrugged, not paying attention to a look of utter surprise on her face. “But believe me, I am not above that. Not right now. So back the fuck up and go inside the circle. You will be safe as long as you're inside.” His hand rested gently on the handle of the gun, not really threatening, but promising to get unpleasant if she would not cooperate.

“Noah, this is some kind of madness!” Mr. Schuester ran his hand through his hair. “If there is a killer out there, we should call 911, not make salt lines and...and bloody drawings on the door!” With that, he reached towards his pocket and pulled his cell phone.

A click of uncocked gun stopped him from making a call and he raised his eyes slowly to see Puck aiming at him.

“Give me the phone, Mr. Schue. The police aren't going to help here. It'll just add to pile of bodies that _we_ will turn to if you don’t let me do my job.”

“Guys!” Artie tried to get their attention, but he wasn’t heard; Will’s expression turned angry as he looked at the gun.

“And you’re going to shoot me, Noah? Should we feel safer here with you then with the police?”

“Guys!”

“You should.”

“Maybe Mercedes was right, maybe you did finally go off the deep end!”

“GUYS!”

“What?!” Puck turned to Artie, who looked absolutely white, as if color drained from his face. The boy in the wheelchair looked around at all of them, looking for something intently.

“Where is Kurt?”

The silence that fell upon them was immediate.

“Oh God, Kurt!” Mercedes wailed, starting towards the door, stopped only when Puck turned the gun towards her, having snatched Schuester’s phone when he was distracted and ignoring the glowering look he got from the teacher. “Let me through! Kurt’s out there, and if there’s a killer in the halls he could be hurt!”

“Get the fuck back in the circle, Mercedes!” Puck finally lost his nerve and nearly pushed the black girl back towards the rest of the group. “No matter what you guys think I am actually trying to save your sorry asses, so shut the fuck up and let me work!” He huffed, scrunching his eyes closed for half a second as he felt migraine coming to him. He really was slammed into the lockers one time too hard. Puck wondered if he could tell on his own if he had a concussion. “As long as you stay inside the salt circle, you will be fine. Now let me deal with this!”

Not paying attention to their angry expressions, he fished out his cell phone from his jeans pocket, and, keeping one eye on Gleeks, he quickly browsed through his phone book.

This was not going to be easy.

There were a couple of empty rings, and Puck started mentally cursing at the phone, as if it was the device’s fault there was no one at the other end of the line. His heart skipped a beat when he finally heard a gruff _hello_ from the other side.

“Mr. Hummel, sir, we have a situation at school.” He could see Mercedes’ eyebrows rise so high in surprise they almost disappeared into her hairline. Puck waited for a moment as he let the adult ask him some questions. “Yes. Yeah, we’re cornered in the choir room near the auditorium. I have civilians with me, sir. Yeah, Glee members.”

Puck didn’t pay much attention to the expressions of confusion when he called the others civilians. Time for explanation would come later, if they were lucky to survive this day. Hey, maybe if he kept them all alive, Schuester will forget the idea of Spanish test he had planned for the end of that week?

“Mr. Hummel...it’s Berith. It’s bad. He... he’s got Kurt, sir.” Puck closed his eyes for a moment, desperately hoping he could somehow tune out the pained gasp he could hear from the other end of the line. This wasn’t the kind of shit he was ready to deal with. _Ever._

“I don’t know how long, sir. I only recognized him because of that song he used to hum all the time. He took me by surprise.” Puck was now scribbling frantically around the salt lines, another sets of sigils made with his blood. He had to reopen the wound on his palm for this, renewing the blood flow. In the corner of his eye he could see Rachel looking downright green and queasy at the sight of blood and his self-harm. Somewhere in the corner of his frantically working mind he was wondering why no one tried to take the gun away from him yet. Hell, they were probably half scared of the crazy shit he could do and half wanting to believe his explanations. “I don’t know what kind of damage he had done already. He cornered me by the lockers. I managed to banish him using the Solomon’s seal, but I only bought a few minutes. No, sir. I only have one glock, a ring of salt and half bottle of holy water. No, I don’t have time or way to draw a trap.” Puck focused for a moment, listening to the answers at the other end of the line. “I understand, sir, I’ll—”

Puck snapped his head around to the direction of the door of the choir room and sure enough, he could hear a faint singing. Now that the room was silent the rest of Glee members could her it as well. Puck snapped back to reality, turning back to the phone and hearing Burt’s frantic shouts to get his attention back.

“He’s here. We’ll keep the line open. Please hurry up, sir.” He tossed the phone to Mercedes, who caught it with an unsteady hands and a look of shock on her face as she recognized the singing voice.

“Don’t close the line but try to keep the phone out of sight” He stood up, stepped into the ring of salt and aimed the gun towards the door. He turned to look at the rest of the group. “And whatever happens, don’t step out of the circle. If you do, you’re as good as dead.”

_Oh, Death, оh Death, oh Death,  
Won't you spare me over till another year?_

There is was, the same song he kept hearing two years ago, coming out much softer now, with the voice of a soprano. Puck shifted his grip on the gun, praying to God no one from his friends got heroic and tried to take over the situation. Because then? They'd all be fucked.

 

_But what is this, that I can't see  
With ice cold hands taking hold of me_

The door to choir room opened slightly, and the first thing they saw was a small hand with thin, shapely fingers smearing through the sigil at their inside, smudging the lines. Puck knew the lyrics of the song by heart. He heard them in his nightmares more then enough times.

 

_When God is gone and the Devil takes hold,  
Who will have mercy on your soul?_

 

With the sigil gone, a small figure finally stepped into the room.

“Kurt!” Mercedes’ shout was relieved and she actually made a step forward towards the boy, only to have Puck’s arm stop her in her tracks and causing her to struggle against him.

“Stay!” Puck shouted back, eyes never leaving Kurt, who stood humming by the door, a picture of perfect innocence if Puck didn’t know better. “Stay inside the fucking circle! That is _not_ Kurt!”

He could sense that they were staring at him like he had just grown another head. Kurt smirked a little, really, just a twitch of the corner of his lips, but it was enough.

“Noah?” Kurt’s voice sounded small and frightened. “What are you doing with that gun? Mr. Schue, why is he aiming at me?”

“Puck, man—” Finn started to pacify his friend, but Puck would have nothing of it and just hissed at him to shut the fuck up.

“Noah, that is enough!” Mr. Schuester made a move to intercept the weapon, but Puck chose that exact moment to lower the gun slightly and pressed the trigger. It nearly physically pained him to do so, but he needed the rest of them to see. A shot ran through the room, the bullet hitting the floor just inches of Kurt’s feet. All of them froze immediately.

Kurt started to laugh.

“Kurt?” Mercedes looked at her best friend, but this time she made no move to go near him.

“I’m sorry, Mercedes,” Kurt looked at the girl and smiled. He closed his eyes for a split second, and when he opened them again, they were completely black. “I’m afraid Kurt’s not in the driving seat right now.”

She took a step back. Kurt looked over the members of Glee club for a moment, then blinked again and his eyes were back to normal. He started humming again.

 

_Oh, Death, оh Death, oh Death,_   
_No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold_   
_Nothing satisfies me but your soul_

 

“You sick fuck,” Puck snarled towards the boy, never allowing himself to stop tracking his slightest movements. “How long have you been in him?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kurt turned his attention back to the teen in charge. “A day? Week? Maybe the whole month? Why should I tell you?”

The thing-that-was-not-Kurt came closer, around the circle of salt that was the only barrier right now. Puck stayed silent and gratefully the other Gleeks shut up as well, all of them truly scared. After the initial surprise it was clear that Kurt was... not himself. He moved differently, still with the lithe body of a dancer, but for anyone who knew they boy it was clearly visible. His eyes, even without the blackness covering them, were different. Cold, murderous and a little crazy. When he came closer, Puck could see the scalpel from biology lab that he kept twirling in his fingers, seemingly innocently.

“You know,” the Not-Kurt started, “it was actually easy to take over dear old Kurt. With all this shit that he’s been dealing with lately, he didn’t even put up a fight. Which is weird, really.” The soprano finished his inspection of the salt line, finding no break in it that he could use to his advantage. “Even without me using him as my meat suit, he hasn’t been himself for a while now. Poor, misguided baby.” Not-Kurt laughed a little, a weird kind of unamused chuckle.

“Who are you?” Artie finally found his voice back and he was staring at his friend as if he haven’t seen him before.

“Noah, you haven’t introduced me yet?” The lithe boy grabbed one of the chairs of the choir room, spun it around and straddled it—all in one smooth move—resting his hands on the back of it. The scalpel in his light grip begin slinging back and forth, as if was a metronome measuring seconds towards their demise. “That actually hurts, you know?” He turned back to look at Artie, his eyes black once more. “Name’s Berith. Me, Noah and Kurt go way back.”

“You’re a demon.” It was Jesse’s quiet voice that startled them this time. Once more, Puck wondered how the other boy knew, but decided to save that story for later. If there’s going to be any later.

“Bang! We have a winner!” Berith mock-clapped, smiling brightly. “Someone give the boy a cookie, he deserves it.”

“You never knew when to shut up,” Puck smirked, eyes narrowing to observe the demon more closely. “That was one of the things that pissed me off so much last time.”

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” Berith didn’t look apologetic. “Let me get straight to the point then. How long do you think you can keep this up, hmm?”

Puck’s hand on the gun twitched.

“Yeah, I though so.” The demon sounded smug. “You have one lousy salt ring and Solomon’s bloody sigils, and I have to tell you, they kinda suck when it comes to stopping me. I, on the other hand, have all the time in the world. How long before people show up for school in the morning? Before janitors and security guards come in? Before your parents start looking for you?”

The members of Glee club actually started to fidget at that thought.

“How about you, Artie?” Berith turned his gaze towards the boy, making him flinch when confronted with sudden question. “How long before your dad shows up to pick you from the practice? Maybe I should go to the parking lot, tell him your wheelchair got stuck somewhere. I could offer to lead him to you and help, then take him to one of the classrooms and rip his throat out.”

Berith saw the fear in boy’s eyes and it seemed to give him more power, because he left his spot in the chair and came close to the salt circle once more, as close as he could get to the barrier, as if mocking the scared group with such near presence.

“Or how about you, Rachel?” He turned towards the diva, making her gasp and clutch at Jesse’s hand tighter. “How long it will take before your dear old dads decide their _star_ was never this late and they come looking for you? Do you think it will be very melodramatic if I told them that they can trade their life for yours and make them kill each other? Because I can do that, you know. Or maybe that’s not tragic enough for your taste?”

Rachel’s wasn’t above crying upon hearing those words, her pride be damned.

“Or maybe you, Quinn?” Berith turned to the pregnant girl, who instinctively put a protective arm over her belly. “The salt line will not hold me forever. All it takes is a gust of wind and the circle will break. Who do you think would be the easiest target? And you know, unborn babies? They’re actually kind of tasty.”

There was a sudden movement from his right but before he had time to react, his head snapped back when Puck hit him with the butt of the gun. Clutching at the bloody nose with one hand, he turned to look at the teenager.

“Kurt’s going to be pissed that you broke his nose, you know.” Berith shrugged, gently holding the broken bone and moving it back to place with a sick cracking sound that made Gleeks flinch.

“He’ll live.” Puck smirked, glad he could struck the demon without leaving the protective lines. Kurt would tear him a new one when this was all over, but for now, beating the stuffing out of Berith provided some satisfaction. Score one for the Puckzilla.

“Will he?”

Those two simple words were enough to make Puck’s blood chill.

“What...what have you done to him?” He snarled angrily once he shook off his stupor. This was bad. Really bad. “What the fuck have you done to Kurt?!”

His angry tone seemed to put the rest of the group at unease. He could feel the tension around him when they caught on his fear and maybe, just maybe, at the worry and rage in his voice.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Berith smirked, wiping the blood from his face and after a second of consideration, licking his fingers clean. He could see the girls scrunch their faces in disgust and Puck’s brow twitching. “Maybe I’ve been here for couple of days, hmm? Maybe I've taken Kurt’s sweet ass to the streets. Do you like the idea? The poor boy is so uptight, it might actually do him some good for somebody to... you know, do him.” Berith shrugged, still sucking on his fingers. He took a seat in another chair, this time facing the group, who looked terrified at his words.

“Maybe I’ve been whoring his body to johns for weeks now. The boy looks like the type, you know. He has so much crazy shit in his bedroom you wouldn’t believe it. I’m talking about lacey corsets. With sequins. On the other hand maybe you do know, since the two of you were humping each other’s brains out just last week.” Berith raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Or maybe I took him flying, jumping from school roof, so all of his bones and insides are smashed to a pulp. Maybe I have cut his face to shreds, so much that he would have to be identified by his dental records. Do you really want to know?”

Puck didn’t. He felt like hurling already with just images in his head. He could feel the stares of his teammates on him, but decided to push away the fact Berith had just outed them to whole club and focus on here and now.

“You know damn well that if I have done all those things to him, then I'm the only thing that keeps his body in once piece. Once I leave this meat suit, Kurt will fall apart...literally.”

Until now, Puck hadn’t noticed that the scalpel was back, twirled by those slim, long fingers.

“Of course, I may be lying. Demons do that, apparently. So if you want, we can make sure, right here and now.”

Before Puck had chance to react his ears were already filled with screams of shock and protest from their friends as Berith pressed the blade to Kurt’s wrist and slashed deeply. Dark blood welled up, only to splatter thickly on the choir room floor.

“Stop it!” It was Mr. Schuester now, his voice betraying how frightened he was for Kurt’s life, but unable to fix the situation. “What has he done to you? You don’t have to hurt him!”

Poor, naive Mr. Schue.

The other wrist was cut as well, and even though the cuts were deep the blood flow stopped after a moment—demonic healing power keeping the harm at bay.

“Kurt hasn’t done anything to me, Will.” Berith cleaned the scalpel on Kurt’s pristine McQueen shirt. “I, on the other hand, had done all the fun things to him. But that’s the story for another time, I guess.”

Mr. Schuester’s face fell when he heard the implications in voice of their choir soprano.

“He screams for you, you know.” Berith looked back at Puck once more. It seemed that whatever was going between the two of them, it was more then personal. The demon in Kurt’s body seemed to love taunting the other boy. “He is stuck inside his own head with no control of his body whatsoever. He shouts for you, but you never heard him. _Noah! Please help me, Noah!_ ” Berith mocked in false falsetto. “All this noise in my head, it’s making me sick.”

“When I'm done with you,” Puck hissed through his teeth, gripping the gun harder. “Banishment back to hell will seem like a joy ride.”

“Oh please,” Berith huffed. “You’re stuck inside a measly salt ring with bunch of kids and one confused, metrosexual _Spanish_ teacher.” Somehow, Berith managed to make that sound like a grave insult.

Schuester was about to say something in attempt to save face, but at that exact moment that the light in the choir room went off. Even Berith seemed to be surprised by this.

“You have ten seconds to leave my boy alone. After that, I can promise things will get ugly.”

Gleek’s heads whipped around to see Mr. Hummel standing in the doorway. Berith smirked in a particularly nasty way, about to throw some nasty comment about failed rescue attempt.

Puck pounced.

Later on he could swear the fight lasted for ages, though in reality it couldn’t take more then minutes. Time was not on their side with this one. The details were a little hazy—he had one major concussion to thank the demon for, after all—but he remembered splashing Berith with the rest of holy water he had left. The demon roared in pain, skin sizzling with holy burns and Puck used that moment to whack his temple with the butt of the gun.

It wasn’t enough to bring him down, demons never gave up easily, so after a second of surprise Berith was back on him, trying to smash his face in with his fists. Using that as a distraction, not paying much attention to horrified screams of the Glee kids and their shouts of horror when things didn’t go very well, Burt pulled the demon off of Puck, giving him a moment to recover, before he too was slammed away and into the wall by sheer power of demonic telekinesis.

“You think you can save him?!” Berith shouted towards the mechanic, and Puck had to notice that angry Kurt did looked kind of sexy, if you ignored the black eyes and the whole _you-will-die-with-long-and-painful-death_ vibe that was nearly oozing from him. “He's already dead! I fucked him up so badly that there is no way you’re getting your son back!”

It seemed almost funny, if Puck had it in him to laugh. One of them would get pummeled into the ground, the other would help, only to switch sides and become the victim of a brutal attack in turn. It finally ended when Puck tried to shake off Berith, who had literally sat on him and tried to choke the life out of him—and wow, if he wasn’t preoccupied right then the thought of male parts that interlocked at the time would be all kinds of hot—but then it all seemed to change as Kurt’s body convulsed and he collapsed like a rag doll next to the other teen.

Puck blinked few times, trying to understand what in the world had happened, when he saw Burt with and electric rod standing over their sprawled bodies. Well, that was one way to end the fight. Puck’s apparently broken ribs only wished Burt would pull out that trick a little bit earlier.

“Come on,” Burt tossed him a coil of thick rope, heavy enough to get to him to huff when it hit him on the chest and his ribs and Puck let out an undignified yelp. “Tie him down, we don’t have much time left.”

Puck rolled to his side and his ribs protested _hard_. Bad, bad idea. He dumped Kurt’s unconscious body onto the chair and after sagging heavily next to him, quickly tied his hands and legs, making sure _twice_ that the restraints would hold down even with the demonic power coursing through boy’s lanky limbs. Looking towards Burt, he saw the other man scribbled a devil’s trap on the floor using chalk. It was a temporary solution, but it should hold until they had finished the exorcism.

“Is...is it safe now?” Rachel stuttered as she watched Kurt warily.

Damn. He almost forgot about the Gleeks.

“Not yet,” Burt answered quickly, before Puck could even open his mouth. “We’ve got him under control, but until we’re done I would feel better if you stayed inside the salt lines. You can never be too sure.”

It seemed that Mr. Schuester had some fight left in him, because he approached Puck and helped him up from the floor, trying not to bother his ribs. Then he helped the other man, as Burt asked him to move the chair with unconscious boy into the devil’s trap. Will frowned, as it he was about to ask something, but quickly decided against it. It seemed that Burt knew what had to be done.

“Mr. Hummel?” Mercedes asked in a weirdly small voice. “What happens to Kurt now?”

Burt looked at the chubby girl, his eyes growing softer. She was a good fiend to his boy, that much he knew.

“When I tell you to, you’re going to call 911. Tell them that Kurt was attacked, you just found him and you don’t know anything else. We’ll handle it from there, okay? Just wait for my signal.”

She nodded, still holding Puck’s cell. Puck couldn’t care less at the moment.

“You ok, Puckerman?” Burt glanced at the teen quickly. “You’re looking kinda green there.”

“M’fine,” Puck muttered, rubbing his temple where more then one of Berith’s punches landed. Kurt could lay down a mean punch when he was angry enough, but this was much more painful than anything the soprano could do. “Let’s get it over with.”

There was a momentary flurry of movement, as Puck rechecked the devil’s trap—just to be on the safe side—and Burt fished out a flask and a worn out book from the backpack he had brought with him and left outside the room before the fight. Puck took the flask from him and after uncapping it he splashed some of it’s contents on Kurt.

Kurt’s skin hissed and sizzled upon the contact with holy water, but all that came out from him was a pained moan. He looked up, eyes big and vulnerable, staring at his father and friends with confuse.

“Dad?” His voice sounded small and scared and tears threatened to spill from his eyes. “Dad, wha—what’s going on? Why am I tied up?”

There was a slight hesitation from Glee members, as they looked at the scene before them. They all have seen the boy saying and doing horrible things, but that voice right then, that was unmistakably Kurt speaking to them.

“Dad?” Kurt turned his eyes to the mechanic, after seeing no help coming from his friends. “It—it hurts... please... help...”

“Yeah, nice try.” Burt’s eyes were cold and unforgiving. Taking the holy water flask from Puck he didn’t hesitate to splash it on the boy again. Berith roared in pain, the unnatural voice coming from Kurt’s body making Gleeks flinch. The boy’s muscles strained against the rope with all the power the demon gave him, but the bindings held.

Kurt’s laugh filled the room.

“I was never a good actor.” Berith shrugged as much as the binding rope allowed him to. Puck’s murmured ‘ _no shit_ ’ goes unnoticed when Burt opens the tattered book on correct page.

“I’m giving you a choice here. You’re going to leave my son on your own, or I send you back where you came from.”

“You know that it’s your fault as well, don’t you?” Berith ignored the warning and just stared at the man curiously. “He was so off guard that taking him over wasn’t even any fun. But you never noticed, did you? So wrapped up in your own problems you didn’t notice your son checked out of his body almost willingly and gave in.”

“Your choice.” Burt’s eyes were cold, his voice indifferent. He turned his gaze back to the book in hand. “ _Regna terrae, cantate deo, psallite dominoqui fertis super caelum_...”

Berith jerked in the chair once the first lines of exorcism were delivered, as if slapped by an invisible force. Puck eyed the reactions of the Gleeks carefully. Most of them seemed to be frightened by the show they were putting out, but some of them also had this sick look of fascination. Puck could understand that. The first time he saw an exorcism done it all looked to much like something from a horror movie.

“And you!” Berith shouted to Puck, making the boy snap his head to look at the demon and momentarily stopping Burt’s incantation. “You think you are any better? You never noticed that there was anything wrong with him, even before I made him my meat puppet!” Kurt’s eyes were black again, as Burt returned his attention to the exorcism. “But honestly, he’s just being stupid, isn’t he? Hoping for something that is never going to happen because whatever this thing between you is, it’s just fucking around. Literally.”

Puck’s patience snapped so hard you could _almost_ hear the sound in the room.

“You think you know everything, huh?” Noah was in Berith’s face in a flash of a second, ignoring Burt’s words of Latin and stares of their friends. He grabbed Kurt’s head in his larger hands at stared into Berith’s mocking eyes. “You think you can jump into him and uncover all the secrets he has, understand everything?!”

Berith laughed and Puck took a step back.

“Oh, I know enough,” the demon laughed, even though it was clear that the exorcism was hurting it badly. Kurt’s body struggled against the bindings, his movements jerky and uncontrolled. “I know he feels worthless. I know he goes into this school every day scared shitless. I know that the bullying he gets is worse then he ever lets _any_ of you know.”

That made Burt stop again.

“I know he doesn’t feel like your son anymore.” Berith turned his head to the mechanic. “I know that he feels like an intruder in his own home and like he’s not good enough for you. Like he’s never been good enough.”

Puck knew about the recent tension in Hummel household. The whole ‘treating Finn like he’s your son’ thing that Burt had recently. He knew, because not once he had the task of distracting Kurt from his grim thoughts, even if eventually it all turned into angry sex. It was good enough to make the boy forget, at least for a little while.

“But soon none of this is going to matter. All this, this apple pie life you’re hiding behind? The high school and glee club and every day’s boring tasks and obligations? It’s all going to turn to ash. You want to know why?” Berith looked too smug for someone who knew he was screwed and soon to be banished to hell. Neither Burt nor Puck liked that look.

Berith chuckled, a kind of a crazy sound they never knew Kurt was capable of.

“Lucifer has risen.” Berith looked at others, a note of satisfaction in his voice. There was a scared gasp behind his back, but Puck didn’t turn to look. “He’s finally free of his cage and he’s circling his vessel. The door to hell is wide open, you can exorcise me all you want. I am going to crawl right back out and go after you when you least expect it.”

‘ _Demons lie_ ’, Puck thought. ‘ _They always do._ ’

He had to lie. The alternative...Puck didn’t want to think about it.

“But I don’t think you guys are going to live long enough to see the Apocalypse.” Berith sneered at the hunters and quickly lowered his head. “ _Spiritus in mundus, un glorum suarum, umitite palatum iram domine_...”

A strong wind suddenly blew in the choir room. The salt ring on the floor was blown away and he could see his friends panic. Rachel actually squeaked in fear as they barrier was destroyed.

“Don’t even fucking think about it!” Puck jumped right back into action after his momentary stupor, quickly tearing off an edge of his flannel overshirt. He clamped his hand on Kurt’s jaw, forcing him to open his mouth and quickly tied the gag behind the boy’s head, cutting off the spell. Berith snarled at him and then screamed in pain as the exorcism neared it’s end.

“ _Terribilis deus de sanctuario suo. Deus Israhel ipse truderit virtutem et fortitudinem plebi suae_.” Burt’s voice shook as he was saying the last lines, knowing that once he’s done he will know how much damage the demon had done to his son. “ _Benedictus deus. Gloria Patri_.”

There was a inhuman scream that tore through the choir room, amplified by it’s acoustics. Kurt’s head was thrown back and a cloud of black smoke wedged it’s way from behind the gag, leaving the boy in a rush of air. It raced past the screaming Gleeks, tearing through the small opening in one of the windows, disappearing on it’s way to hell.

Kurt’s head fell back on his chest and he rested in his chair, unmoving. Puck moved forward, but Burt’s hand on his arm stopped him. The mechanic didn’t turn to him, just kept observing his son.

“Is it safe now? Should I make the call?” Mercedes was the first to gather her wits, even though her voice was shaky.

“Wait.” Burt released his hold on Puck’s shirt. “We need to be sure it’s gone.”

The next couple of seconds seemed like eternity to all of them. There was a dead silence in the room, no one even dared to breathe. Artie, Santana and Quinn were all frozen in their spots, all of them waiting for this whole affair to end.

After just a moment the first thing that could be heard was the faint dripping sound. Deep red droplets fell quickly on the floor just behind the chair. The next second a wet, deep sound rattled in Kurt’s chest as he coughed, the gag turning crimson almost immediately.

Puck moved like a lightning.

“Mercedes, call 911!” Burt shouted frantically, reaching his son just seconds after Puck, who was already untying the bindings on Kurt’s hands. His fingers were clumsy, slippery with blood that was dripping from boy’s wrists, where Berith’s scalpel tore through flesh. Burt removed the gag, holding his boy’s head gently in his rough hands.

It all looked like special effects from a horror. The ugly purple bruises showed on Kurt’s face as if someone forwarded a movie on slow motion. The cuts on his wrists reopened, as if someone were cutting them again with invisible blade.

Kurt’s head felt heavy in Burt’s careful grip, blood from his mouth and busted nose already staining his hands. His breath was coming in short, pained gasps.

“Kurt? Kurt, look at me.” Burt tried to make eye contact with the boy, but the blue eyes were unfocused, not really seeing anything at that moment.

Puck had finally managed to remove the binding rope and Kurt’s body slid down the chair as if he were a puppet with broken strings. Burt caught him before he collapsed and lowered his son gently on the floor. Another wet cough from the soprano sprayed his hands with dark droplets of blood.

Puck tore off his overshirt, ripping it in two and wrapping the fabric around bleeding wrists as tightly as he could. He was startled when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

“Let me help.” Mr. Schuester kneeled next to him, keeping the fabric in place and putting pressure on the wound. Puck nodded quickly, moving to wrap the other wrist more securely and lifting up the weak limb to slow down the blood flow.

“The ambulance is on the way.” Mercedes informed them, dropping next to them on the floor, but unable to do anything to help. The other Gleeks came closer as well, as if pulled by a magnet. Puck would later realize that in the moment of crisis that was all that they could do, just keep close to one another.

“Kurt!” Burt’s voice cut through the relative silence of the room as he tried to grab the attention of the wounded boy. Kurt’s head lolled a bit, but some recognition dawned in his eyes, focusing a little more at his father. “That’s it, look at me. Come on...”

While Puck kept a tight hold on the slashed wrist, he used his other hand to gently inch Kurt’s shirt up his belly, confirming his fears. The teen’s stomach was painted with dark bruises and the muscles under his light touch were tense and rigid. Puck shared a look with Mr. Schuester, both of them recognizing the signs of an internal bleeding.

“D-dad?” The faint whisper got Puck’s attention again and he looked back at Kurt. The boy let out a broken moan, his stomach seizing up with pain, as if his body was only catching up with the damage the demon left behind.

“I’m here, it’s ok.” Burt ran a gentle hand over Kurt’s hair, careful not to aggravate any injury. His son was looking at him with clarity now, though his eyes were dulled with pain.

“Hurts.” He gasped out, trying to reach to his dad but unable to, both wrists immobilized with pressure. “I’m s-sorry, I’m so sorry...”

Talking seemed to be to hard for him, because his chest rattled with that nasty wet cough again and he gasped for breath during it’s attack. Puck could hear the ambulance’s siren somewhere in the distance.

If only they could hurry the fuck up.

“I’ll go meet them, it will be quicker that way.” Jesse’s voice seemed a little far away, as well as the sound of him running out of the room, but Puck was grateful someone thought about showing the paramedics the way.

“It’s ok son, don’t talk.” Burt tried to calm his son down, though the boy seemed to have none of it.

“Not your fault,” he gasped, so weakly that Burt had to strain to hear him even in the silence of the room. “He—he lied, not your fault.”

“Shhh,” Burt whispered back, stroking Kurt’s cheek gently. “I know, I know.”

He knew it _was_ his fault, but for Kurt’s sake he could lie.

“You’re going to be ok, just stay focused on me, ok? Keep looking at me, Kurt. You’re doing great.”

Kurt tried to obey the request, but he felt his limbs getting heavier, even in Puck’s and Will’s hold and somehow his neck refused to hold his head in place. He closed his eyes for a moment, only to be jerked back to reality by another spasm of pain.

“Don’t close your eyes, son, keep looking at me. Kurt? Kurt!”

The soprano’s head lolled on the ground.

In the same moment Jesse busted into the room, two paramedics seconds behind him. Puck found himself removed from Kurt’s side by the medical team. Refusing to let go he tried to grab at boy’s hand again, his own bloody fingers grasping at air, but this time it was Finn who held him back with firm arms and muttered assurances. Puck didn’t struggle. He could feel the concussion, fatigue and all the pain of the last hour as they finally cut trough the adrenaline coursing in his veins and made him weak. He sagged in Finn’s hold, blindly trusting his best friend to not let him fall.

“I’ve got you.” Finn held him as his knees went out and lowered them both to sit on the floor while Puck was still semi-focused at the paramedics. Kurt had to be alright, he just had to, otherwise he’ll—

Puck closed his eyes for a moment and the last thing he could hear before unconsciousness claimed him was Finn repeating ‘ _It’s ok, I’ve got you_ ’ in his ear, over and over again.

 

 

*****

 

There was an annoying beeping somewhere in the background.

Puck opened his eyes and regretted it almost immediately. Letting out a hiss of pain at the harsh light above him he squeezed his eyes shut once again and wondered who the fuck had ran him over because his head felt like it was going to split in two.

“Puck?” There was a voice next to him and Noah vaguely recognized it as Finn’s. A moment later, the light went off in the room and Puck felt safe to crack one eye open as a test drive.

Ok, much better.

He blinked few times, trying to clear up his vision and finally noticed Finn looking at him from above.

Wait, above?

He raised himself on his elbows and looked around dizzily. He definitely was in a hospital room.

Huh.

“Man, how you’re feeling?” Finn helped him up, supporting his back in case his arms gave out. Puck could see he was concerned but at the moment he wasn’t in the touchy-feely mood, more like ‘ _what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-here_ ’ mood.

“Wha—?”

And then he remembered. He immediately wished he could forget all over again.

“How’s Kurt?” He grunted, sitting on the edge of hospital bed. At least the mystery of the annoying beeping sound was solved, as he noticed the monitors by his bed and the cables that ran to his chest, careful of the bandage that taped his ribs. He was wearing his clothes, thank God, but instead of the t-shirt he had on earlier he now wore green scrubs top. “The fuck? How long I’ve been here?

“Kurt’s in the surgery, we still don’t know what’s going on.” Finn fidgeted, obviously not used to be the bearer of bad news. “We’ve been here less then an hour man, but you kind of passed out in the choir room. Medics brought you here and well, they say you’re concussed, so they admitted you for observation.”

That made sense, Puck mused.

“What’s with the med garb?” Puck tore the skin electrodes away from his arm and chest and only glared at the other boy when Finn let out a sound of protest.

“Burt kind of took the initiative here. He’s off to fill some forms, I didn’t really ask. He just told me to wake you up every twenty minutes but you seem to be doing better.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Puck pushed away from the bed and his world spun a little, but this time he refused Finn’s hold when the other boy grabbed his elbow to steady him. “Where’s my shirt? I feel like fucking idiot in this.”

“It’s in the bathroom. Listen, maybe you shouldn’t, I mean it’s kinda—”

But Puck wasn’t listening to him, determined to get out of this room as fast as possible and go find out what’s been happening while he was out. Which was fucking embarrassing in the first place.

“The rest of geek squad?”

“Outside emergency room.” Finn shrugged, though the other boy could not see him, busy rummaging through the bathroom and looking for his stuff. “Mr. Schue is still in school, talking to police. Santana and Brittany fled, but they promised to come here soon.”

There was no reply this time and Finn frowned.

“Dude? You ok?”

Still silence. Worried that maybe the other teen passed out again Finn lightly pushed the bathroom door open, peering inside.

Puck was standing at the sink of the tiny bathroom, looking at the brown t-shirt in his hands. He was unmoving, eyes locked on the dark, almost black stain in the front of the fabric.

“Ah, man,” Finn sighed, coming into the bathroom. “I tried to tell you, it’s ruined now, that’s why they got you the scrubs.”

The words seemed a little distant to Puck, like someone was saying them through the barrier of many layers of cotton. He tried to reply, say something in response to Finn calling his name, but couldn’t. All he could do was to stare at the bloodied cloth in his hands and _feel_ the still wet fabric clinging to his fingers. He tried to breathe, but he felt like something was constricting his lungs and a vertigo took him over, tilting his world in all the wrong ways. He expected to hit the floor or maybe the wall behind him, but the impact never came. Instead, when he suddenly snapped back to reality he found himself sitting on the bathroom floor. His hands were squeezing the shirt so hard his knuckles were white and Finn was in his face, shouting something. His hearing came back in a flash, as if someone popped a balloon right next to his ear and the sound slammed into him, making him flinch.

“Puck!”

“Stop shouting!” He screamed back, somewhat startled at the volume of his on voice. “I’m concussed, not deaf,” he added in much calmer tone.

“Man, you’re scared the shit out of me.” Finn’s head dropped a little in relief, his hands still holding to Puck’s shoulders. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Passing out.”

“I didn’t pass out!” Puck protested, his pride bruised just a little. “Not this time.”

“Well, you were damn close to it.” Finn sagged on the floor, adrenaline leaving his body. The sat like that for a while, both leaning on the opposite walls.

“Think you can get up?” Finn finally asked after few moments of silence.

“I don’t think so. Not yet.” Puck swallowed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He let go of the shirt he kept in the death grip so far, letting it fall on the floor next to them. He set his eyes on the fragment of peeling wallpaper in the corner of the room, trying to find the right words. They didn’t come, but he had to say something anyways.

“It was easier, you know.” Puck could feel the weight of Finn’s stare at him when he started speaking, but didn’t turn to his friend. He felt detached, like he was about to summarize a plot of a movie or a game, not the events of his life. “It was much easier to say he actually left me and mom and Sarah. Better then saying he is dead, because then people ask questions. When you say your father left you and your family, they're actually uncomfortable enough that they don’t ask for details.” Puck sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I was nine when Berith killed him. I don’t really know _what_ happened, just that my mom came to me in tears one day and told me that he was killed. I think I somehow knew, when I saw her. He was a hunter, the risk of dying kind of comes with the job.”

“Hunter?” Finn looked confused.

“Yeah. Hunters kill all kind of sons of bitches, demons being high in the rank.” He finally looked at the other teen. “Most of the stuff from horror stories is real, you know. Ghosts and evil spirits and all that jazz. Sorry you had to learn about it this way.” He thought for a moment. “No, actually, I’m sorry you guys had to learn about it at all.”

“Do you know why he attacked Kurt?” Finn rested his head at the wall behind him. He was really too tired after a day like this to be thinking about the supernatural creatures being real. He decided it was best to push it away for the moment and freak out later, when he got some rest.

“He killed Kurt’s mom.”

Finn’s head snapped back to look at the other boy.

“Yeah.” Puck nodded, seeing the bewilderment on Finn’s face. “When he was six. I don’t know exactly what happened, only that Mr. Hummel took some revenge and since then Berith’s been dead set on making his life hell. I never asked. I’m not sure I even want to know. I got him to teach me some things, though. After dad died he kind of took over in my education when it comes to things from bizzaro land.”

“He’s a hunter too?”

“Yeah. They knew each other before. But I think he wanted to settle down. I haven’t seen him going on hunts, though he sure doesn’t tell me anything. But Kurt said he didn’t hunt, not for good couple of years.”

“This all sounds like one huge nightmare.” Finn closed his eyes for a second. “There are demons out there, you and Burt hunt these things, now you tell me Kurt’s in it as well.”

“He had to know how to protect himself, of course Burt taught him. The kid can throw a mean knife when he wants to.”

“Puck?” Finn glanced at the other boy quickly. “What did the demon mean when he said that the devil was freed?”

Puck clenched his jaw, looking back at the peeling wallpaper again.

“Fuck if I know. But I intend to find out.”

 

 

*****

 

When they finally left Puck’s room half an hour later, Puck felt a little more stable on his legs. At least the world didn’t spin anymore and whatever drugs they gave him earlier—and they did, he could see the marks on his forearms—they seemed to be working in elevating his headache. They made their way down the corridors, until the door to emergency unit was visible, along with it’s waiting room and a band of Gleeks slumped in the uncomfortable orange chairs.

He didn’t exactly get at first who slammed into him and hugged him with vengeance, but soon he was surrounded by bodies and hands that patted him on the back. It felt... nice really. He could ignore the aching of his ribs for the sake of feeling wanted, feeling needed. Until then he didn’t really realize he had actually saved their lives and even though the thought was nice, he was surprised to actually be glad they were all okay.

He had Quinn, Rachel and Mercedes wrapped around him and it was only Artie’s quiet urging that made them let go before his ribs got busted completely. Thirty minutes later Mr. Schuester joined them in the waiting room, armed with paper cups of coffee for all and gave Puck’s shoulder a light squeeze.

“I think I owe you an apology, Noah.” Will looked tired and a little older, like another couple of years was suddenly thrown on him just in a matter of few hours. Puck didn’t reply – he couldn’t find the words – so he just nodded in thanks and tuned his stare back to the emergency room, finding some comfort in the warmth of the paper cup seeping into his hands and Quinn’s gentle fingers that ran through his hair. It was nice, it was comforting and he could focus on the touch instead of the fact his fingernails still had half-moons of crusted blood underneath them.

Mr. Hummel joined them soon after, speaking in hushed tones with Mr. Schuester and looking at the kids from time to time, age and fatigue clearly visible in his eyes. Puck didn’t pay attention to them, didn’t pay much attention to anything.

He must have zoned out again because suddenly Mr. Hummel is in front of him, kneeling on one knee and it should freak him out but he could only tense in surprise. He could see Burt looking at him with worry so he tried to focus and the effort seemed to please the other man.

“I just spoke to his doctors. He’s going to be ok, Noah.” Puck merely blinked, trying to comprehend the real meaning of the words and turning them over and over in his head, as if looking for a loop hole.

“It’s okay, Noah.” People seemed to like to repeat that to him lately, Puck noticed with strange detachment. “You’ve done your job, you can let go now. It’s okay.”

He felt numb and not entirely fine once again as he tried to fully understand what just happened, but it seemed that his body was faster on catching up then his mind. He could feel himself shaking and somebody—he thought it was Rachel—gently took the coffee cup from him before he spilled it and added burns to the myriad of his pains and contusions. Puck was aware of the tension leaving him in a great whoosh of air and that there was someone’s hand rubbing circles on his back. He could feel his face scrunching up, feel himself crumbling when everything was said and done and he could finally _rest_. He felt someone pulling him forward and he registered on some level that it was Quinn, but at that moment he didn’t care about anything beyond the arms that circled him, cradled him close and allowed him to fall apart, just this once.

And tomorrow, after things had calmed down, he was going to put his game face on and prove to Kurt that everything Berith had said about him, about _them_ , was just lies.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters or the universe. I wish I did though.  
>  **Beta:** captainajsydney
> 
>  **Spoilers:** Set between "Home" and "Laryngitis" for Glee, general season 5 for Supernatural
> 
>  
> 
> A plotbunny attack evolved into a crossover I did not expect myself to write. Not in a million years. But here it is and I tried to make it work. No crossing of characters, just the universe.  
> It was originally posted at Puckurt LJ community.


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